


eaves under eaves

by Senri



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senri/pseuds/Senri
Summary: "With its gas-like body, it can sneak into any place it desires. However, it can be blown away by wind." -- Pokemon Gold Pokedex entry for Gastly





	eaves under eaves

Agatha grows up with ghosts crowding around her house. Lavender Town gets beaten up by winds that grow strong coasting down the mountains; it's rare that there's not a breeze going. Even in the high days of summer, currents make the dry air move. Gastly are gaseous. Their bodies are large but not distinct. They have to take shelter where they can find it, and one of those places is around Agatha's house, crowding under the eaves.

The house is stoppered up tight to endure the windy days and nights, the banshee gale screaming around outside, and little Agatha (dubbed Agony by her older brother; he's training up a Growlithe and won't play with her anymore) has grown up as long as she can remember with narrow eyes and grinning fanged mouths crowding around outside her window, Gastlies staring in at her while she stares out.

She can hear them snickering under the wind. It must be the sound of them snickering. Her parents don't like her looking out at them. _Morbid_ is the word she hears, thrown back and forth.

It's stupid to be so afraid, though - these little ghosts are near nothing at all. If they wanted to, they'd drift in down the chimney, mist in under the window pane (tight shut is not shut as tight as can be, not in their old house), stretching out what little there is of them into something small enough to creep and slide inside. Under the cracks in the doors and the house would be full of them, their strange tenuous matter that dissolves under the hard blast of the wind.

On the coldest windy nights she rubs fog off the window-pane so she can still see them, and if she leaves her hand against the glass they'll tongue the other side with those absurdly long red tongues, teasing, she thinks.

Agatha has never quite worked up the nerve to throw up the sash and invite them all the way in, to drift around her little bedroom. They'll fill up the room like smoke, a touch of the strange and dark and poisonous amidst everything that's mundane.

One day she will.

**Author's Note:**

> Original version written 2010, polished a bit for posting here.


End file.
